


Deliquium

by MistCover



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, F/F, Oral Sex, Rainbow Drinkers, Tentabulges, Xeno, Xenophilia, dont go looking for anything but blood, seriously, wow no nothing but bloodplay here, you will be disappointed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:17:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistCover/pseuds/MistCover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blood being taken from you can be shockingly erotic, a case study by one Rose Lalonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliquium

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! This was a commission with the prompt "Rose finds that Kanaya drinking her blood turns her on; first time sex ensues; tentabulges." So that's what you'll find here. :D I may post the other commissions I got in a little bit. Hope you enjoy, and as always, you can find me on tumblr at grimdarkthroes.tumblr.com!

It has been twenty weeks since your routine started.

It has been ten weeks since you officially became “a couple”.

It has been one week since your last ‘session’.

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are very ready for your girlfriend to return. She’s gone on a walk, aimlessly clicking her heels down the corridors of the meteor, leaving you to prepare yourself. Which you do, no doubt, and every time is the exact same (the ritual of which provides more than a modicum of comfort) waiting for her to open the door, pupils shrunk to pinpricks in the sudden light of your room. You shuffle down to the floor, dropping on your hands and knees and reaching under your bed, groping blindly until your hand hits the cold plastic handle of the kit you’ve made. It drags slowly, falling on the bed with a puff of air and a shifting of the comforters. The lid is flipped open, and inside it contains several sizes and shapes of bandage, antiseptic spray and lotion, pain killing drugs which you refer to as Advil and Dave refers to as _‘probably Morphine or some shit, damn,’_ a small, rolled towel, cotton balls and tape. In reality, none of this is necessary. In reality, this has all been negated by your literal state as a living God, your healing accelerated, your body in perfect tune.

Even the alcohol you liberally chug when you feel alone can’t break you, despite your best efforts. But still, the motions of preparation are calming, not just to you but also to Kanaya, who worries incessantly. You remove a single unit of these items, one by one, laying them in a neat little row on your bedside table, clicking the lid of the box closed and dropping in unceremoniously on the floor, where you kick it back under the bed. You drift to your bathroom, drink a glass of water. And another. Again, unnecessary, and again, it’s the routine that matters. You’re supposed to hate this, you’re supposed to cry out in pain, try to push her away from your neck or your wrist. You would never. She is always concerned that you shut down in pain, that you’d have no way to tell her if things went horribly wrong, to which you remind her _‘I cannot die under normal circumstances’_ It is your mantra, repeated over and over as she fusses with your hair, trailing her luminescent fingers over your skin.

The door clicks open as you are lost in thought, standing in front of the mirror, glass held idly to your lips.

“Rose?” She calls, softly, and you smile. There’s your girl.

“I’m in the bathroom. Make yourself comfortable and I will return to your embrace in a few moments.” You finish your glass, setting it down and tilting your head up to the ceiling.

When you enter your room proper, she is stock still on the bed, her spine ramrod straight and her hands folded primly on her lap. Her glow flickers, fading, and you smile at her. “It’s alright if you turn that off. While light happens to be my favorite thing, it is not the only thing I enjoy about your company.” The glow dies immediately and you settle next to her, placing your hands atop hers.

“May I take this opportunity to apologize, again, for-”

“Kanaya, hush. Saying it every time is growing old.” She gives you a weak little half smile, bringing her nose to your neck, breathing in deeply. You hold back a shudder, taking deep breaths of your own, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Her mouth opens, tongue licking along your skin to find your pulse. She could probably find it without this step by now, but she does it every time, mouthing your paper thin skin until she finds what she is looking for. There is always a pause, here, the slightest hesitation. For the first few weeks, she asked _‘are you sure, Rose?’_ to which you would always reply, _‘just eat’_. And that’s what this is. This is a meal to her, and nothing more, and nothing less. You happen to be her primary source of nourishment, now, your blood coming back in quickly, flowing smoothly. Apparently trolls run cooler than humans do as a general rule, and even Karkat, candy red as he is, is much easier to swallow. You would ask if your blood hurts her but she never complains, although sometimes she wanders away, coming back with a mouth smeared teal and a sated look in her eyes.

She bites. The first puncture hurts, hurts enough to make your vision go cross-eyed and your legs to press more firmly together, hands squeezing hers. She moves to rub your hands in little circles, almost apologetic, and you wait. And wait. And- there it is, her tongue pressing from between her teeth and onto you and and onto the open wounds, her own salivary fluids mingling with your pulse. You bite back a moan. She digs deeper and you try not to arch your back, heat pooling between your thighs and down in the pit of your stomach. Her mouth sucks, drawing more into her and you let out a heavy breath, your veins pulsing with the drug of her. Simple arousal does not cover it. It is a need, an ache in you for her that you work studiously to deny until she has left the room (ostensibly, to let you rest) and you lay with your fingers jammed inside of you, her name on your lips. She pulls you closer, her tongue lapping faster and pleasure arcs through your spine.

When she stops, you almost beg her to go on, groan at her leaving. She pulls away with a final pop of her lips, pressing her fingers to your neck, reaching for a bandage, cleaning you up with a spritz of cool liquid and a press against you. After she’s finished, you turn to face her and her eyes go wide, staring at you.

“Are you alright?” She asks, worry tinging her borrowed English.

“Absolutely!” You gasp, closing your mouth with a snap to prevent anything else from leaking out of your compromised, horrifically needy brain.

She eyes you, doubly as suspiciously, and very, very carefully leans forward, ghosting her lips along yours and you grab her, pulling her in for a proper, open mouthed kiss. She squeaks in surprise, stiffening under your arms and you pull her down, on top of you, your legs wrapping around your hips and somewhere dim in your consciousness you think to _stop, pull back, pretend you need a nap. That’s stupid,_ you counter yourself, _you want her, you want this, and she’s your girlfriend. You’re allowed._ She pulls back from you and you almost yank her closer, but she is stronger and you are a lady, so she ends up panting just above your face, eyes focused on your own wild gaze.

“I had... well, there were rumors that... what I am attempting to say is that in my many studies of the lore of rainbow drinkers in my youth I had come across more than one account where the bite can be somewhat pleasurable to the person being taken from but I had never thought it to be true and-” you shut her up with another kiss, murmuring nonsense into her mouth.

“Somewhat is something of a massive understatement, akin to making the highly controversial claim that genocide is wrong.” Your hips roll, towards her, and she looks away, flushing jade.

“I am very sorry to have caused you such discomfort.” Her ears fall, flattening out, and you smile up at her.

“It’s nothing I was incapable of fixing on my own.” She blushes more furiously, barely managing to catch your eyes, staring at your nose as she speaks.

“Do you... would you like me to leave you be, then, and allow you to care for your own needs?” She begins to climb off of you, gathering her skirt, and you grab her horns, pulling her back to crash into your chest.

“If you would like to help, that would be more than welcome. And while for humans, the act of being intimate with a new partner can be and often is rife with emotional issues, I find myself not giving one single, solitary fuck.” A giggle bubbles up from her chest, and you laugh in response, quirking your mouth to one side. “So, if you would be so kind. Please.”

She slides down your body, sitting on her knees, pulling you up and into her lap so she has access between your legs. Your skirt is pushed up to bunch at the waist, your panties pulled down, dangling on one ankle and she looks at you, again, studying your expression, your sex, eyes flicking back and forth between the two.

“You... well, this isn’t entirely unexpected.” She nods, contemplating, her fingers pressing between your folds. You inhale sharply.

“Is it not what you- oh!- wanted? I thought I had given you a-” A finger is pushing inside of you and your legs move, squeezing her hips. “Basic understanding of human anatomy.”

“You told me all I need to know. And while I cannot say this is what I envisioned my matesprit having under her skirt...” she pushes a second into you, and you are so -wet- and -needy- that you’re barely listening to what she says, rambling on about the apparently large differences between humans and trolls, her fingers pumping in and out, pressing inside of you. You want to scream. She curls them, and you do, eyes shut and head rolling to one side. She brings her second hand to you, pressing directly on your clit, and you gasp, and she keeps. Talking. _Shut up,_ you think, privately and to yourself. Her fingers find their rhythm, finally, a smooth motion, barely slower than your heart. She rubs small circles on you, while inside of you she keeps you pushed open, her claws dulled and- they haven’t been sharp in weeks. This realization lines up neatly in your mind. She wanted this. She was planning on this. You spare a glance to her face and her eyes are half lidded, her words coming soft, cheeks burning. Her own hips rock, gently, keeping you in constant motion. Your pulse hammers in your ears and you can feel yourself beginning to slip, words spilling out of your mouth to silence hers, mostly variations of her name, her praises, I’msocloseI’msocloseI’m- and you do, climax ripping through your body to leave you messy and exhausted on the sheets, barely aware as she pulls her fingers out from inside of you, licks them clean as she moves to lay next to you.

“So in conclusion, it is what I wanted.” She finishes, and you snort.

“I caught almost none of what you said, being otherwise occupied.” Her face grows concerned, and you press one finger to her lips. “I think it is awfully unfair of me to only leave myself satisfied, is it not?” You waggle your eyebrows at her and she shrugs you off, pushing back slightly.

“It is fine if you are uncomfortable. Pressuring you into dealing with frankly alien genitalia is not something I would like to do, in fact, it is the opposite of what I wou-” she is cut off when you roughly palm her crotch, meeting resistance before you expect to. And then it moves, squirming, and Kanaya hisses in air. “Honestly you do not have to do anything, really, I am more than willing to keep myself covered.”

“Nonsense. My curiosity is piqued and will remain so.” You crawl on top of her, yank down her skirt and underwear in one smooth motion, looking at her, really looking. At what appears to be an honest-to-God tentacle curled against her crotch, minus the suckers. It is, for lack of a better word, slimy, covered in something that looks akin to velvet, the very tip hooked gently like her horn. You stare. She swallows.

“You can cover me now,” she says, very quietly. “I understand.” Is she... she’s afraid. She thinks you wouldn’t want her.

You lean down and take the tip into your mouth. She bites back a gasp and you move lower, carefully, slowly, the texture not unpleasant but not normal, the slime gathering along your lips and coating your tongue with a very faintly sweet flavor.

“No, I think I won’t. I mean, if it’s all the same to you.” You pull off of her to kiss down the shaft, using one hand to hold her steady as you mouth her, licking the base. Her hips buck and the tentacle writhes, petting your cheek and covering you with its lubrication. You kiss up it, push it back into your mouth, and sink down. It hits your throat far too soon and you resist the urge to cough, your hand gripping firmly at the base, keeping it from moving deeper inside as it no doubt is hoping to do. Kanaya moans gently, muffled by a knuckle held tight between her fangs. You move up, and down, again, and she grunts. For a minute, it is just you and her and her whatever this is and her soft, soft noises as you work her. She begins to rock against you, again, her hips moving in wild little jerks and twitches as the appendage in your mouth twists from side to side ( _and wouldn’t that be nice to have inside of you,_ you think, moaning around her,) and she is trying to say something suddenly.

Her hands reach forward, grabbing your hair, and she tries to speak again, “R-rose... Rose!” And you roll your tongue out, along her, and she thrashes against your cheek, swelling at the base and everything is her, your senses filled and then all at once your mouth is as well. You gag, popping off of her to cough out a mouthful of viscous jade ooze, the tentacle pumping out more of it, Kanaya’s eyes squeezed shut and her mouth in a silent scream. It takes a full, uninterrupted minute for her to relax, her hips and your mouth coated in her release, and she pants below you as you sit up further.

“And here I was under the impression ‘bucket-filling’ was purely a metaphor, or perhaps hyperbole. But no, I have been proven wrong.” She shivers, and you lick your lips. “It’s kind of sweet, actually. I thought it would be saltier.”

“I tried to warn you,” she sighs, throwing one arm over her eyes. You move down to lay on her chest, and her sex shifts, the tentacle sliding away inside of her body, small and unobtrusive. “Where did you learn to suck bulge, if you will excuse my language?”

“So that’s what it’s called,” you muse, “and nowhere. I went with what I thought might feel good. But I take it it was satisfactory.”

“More than. But if you’ll excuse me, I need to shower.” She pushes you off of her, standing, pulling her shirt up and off and padding to the bathroom.

You lay on your bed, listen to the water start, and stand up to follow after her.


End file.
